


Mismatched

by InkFire_Scribe



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Female Dwarf, Female Gimli, Genderswap, Girl!Gimli, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Rule 63, Slow Burn, fem!Gimli, friendship before romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFire_Scribe/pseuds/InkFire_Scribe
Summary: This is a collection of short pieces exploring: What if Gimli were female? What if we focused on the in-between moments? What if slow-burn Gigolas romance? Because... why not? :DON HIATUS - Will resume as soon as possible.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 53
Kudos: 103





	1. The Council

**Author's Note:**

> In which an elf and a dwarf meet for the first time, and it does not go well.

The dwarf and her ginger beard stood, pointing accusingly at the blond elf now standing at Aragorn's shoulder. "No! Absolutely not, this is against every tradition I hold dear. I  _ refuse _ to let a  _ she-elf _ go on this quest. Ya can have my ax at yer service, an' everything I can offer, but this is where I draw the line." Gimli slammed the butt of her ax against the smooth paving slab beneath her feet, producing an almost musical metallic ring.

Legolas's fists tightened noticeably, his blue eyes flashing as he opened his mouth to protest. Aragorn stopped him with a hand on his chest, clearly working to suppress a grin. 

"Legolas is Thranduil's  _ son _ , Gimli, son of Gloin. I assure you he is male." 

"I knew dwarves were dim of wit," Legolas hissed, "but blind as well?" 

Gimli hesitated, looking over Legolas again. The entire Council seemed to be holding its breath, prepared to spring to the defense of one or the other, should her next words be... less than favorable. 

"Well, perhaps if ya want to look like a man, ya shouldn't wear a dress." Gimli almost added a comment about elves and their clothing choices, but felt the sharp blow from the broad side of her father's ax over the back of her head, which effectively silenced her.

"Dress?!" Legolas strove to maintain a semi-civil tone, tugging at the draping edge of his grey, loose-fitting silk garment. "These are  _ council robes _ . If you knew anything about etiquette and custom, you'd-" 

Elrond held up a hand. "Peace. The unity of the Free Peoples is our only hope. Do not shatter it with petty arguments." His incisive gaze slid between the elf and dwarf, uneasy, as though he had further unspoken reservations. 

_ As well he should, _ Legolas internally simmered. 


	2. An Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Dwarf tries to make Amends, but Lacks Enthusiasm.

The Fellowship was chosen, assembled, well-supplied and sent off. For the most part, the elf and dwarf remained silent while the hobbits chattered, Gandalf and Aragorn discussed their route, and Frodo occasionally asked questions. They trekked on, through the mountain pass and the spacious forest beyond, over hills toward the Misty Mountains. 

Camp that night rowdy, for although the Wizard and Ranger isolated themselves, the hobbits made quite a ruckus, cooking and gossiping and handing out portions of food and drink to the others. Most of the noise seemed to come from two in particular, neither of which were the dark-haired Ring-bearer or his stalwart bodyguard. 

Gimli left her ax as she stood, reluctantly reminded (by a note strategically placed in her pack by none other than her father) that it was important to be on at least relatively good terms with one's companions. There were likely to be life-debts exchanged as they traveled, and bearing a grudge against one or the other of her Company would not end well. 

"Master Elf." She hesitated as Legolas looked up, and she recognized the haughty, icy look in his blue eyes. She struggled to get through the rest of what she'd planned to say before reacting to that obvious challenge. "I jus' wanted to say... well... only wee dwarrows an' their dams wear dresses. I assumed... I jus'... it wasn't meant to be an insult. That's all. If I wanted to hurt yer pride, I'd have done it differently."

Legolas huffed acknowledgement. "I'm sure you meant nothing by it, Master Dwarf. Such... forthrightness must be valued by your people." He turned his attention back to the arrow he'd been repairing. The head had broken off earlier after the entire thing had passed through a rabbit and into a stone. Ordinarily, he'd have discarded a broken arrow, but with supplies at a premium, he wasn't allowed the luxury of waste.

Gimli continued to stand there, saying nothing. This began to bother the elf, who glanced up once more. "May I... help you with something?" 

The dwarf shifted, and finally turned away. "Ah... no. I didn't... nevermind." There was a sort of apology buried in her tone, but she said nothing of it aloud. Stumping off to rejoin her ax, she settled to sharpening it, which seemed to be about all she could do, with the industrious hobbits taking over everything else to do around the camp. 

If there was one thing she  _ wasn't _ going to do, it was admit to the elf she'd been interested in the process of repairing his weapon. She'd always assumed archery was the choice of those who couldn't fight, but she'd seen him take out a rabbit and two game birds with his arrows, and she had to (grudgingly) admit that the game she could hunt with her throwing axes was somewhat more... limited. 

Legolas finished with his arrow and cursed his sudden lack of things with which to busy himself. Sharpening his knives would be unnecessary at best, and rebraiding his hair would be... well. He sneaked a glance at the dwarf. Probably not a good idea to be seen preening. Might invite further derision. Not that he cared about such things. Not that the opinions of  _ dwarves _ bore any weight whatsoever. His father was absolutely right about them. 

It was going to be a struggle tolerating this one, this Gimli son of Gloin. Gloin, who his father had imprisoned some years back, along with the entire Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Legolas was certain such grievances would not soon be forgotten, and quite frankly, he felt the dwarves had deserved it.

"Mister Legolas, sir?" 

The elf jolted out of his thoughts. "Yes?" 

It was the heavyset halfling, who had sandy curls and a round, cheerful face. He presented the elf with a plate - sausages, potatoes, and a small, hard biscuit. "Thought you might be wantin' somethin' to eat, sir." 

Legolas accepted the plate with a small bow. "Thank you. Call me 'Legolas,' if you don't mind." 

"Yessir, Legolas, sir." 

The elf's keen ears easily caught the soft, stifled chuckle that escaped the dwarf sitting nearby. Legolas frowned into his plate, and the halfling moved off to serve the others.

If nothing else, this journey was going to be... interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for Gimli's transcribed accent. I did that because I wanted to, not because it enhanced the story, and I'm afraid that at some points in the following chapters, it will only make her harder to understand. Ah, well. It was fun, anyway.
> 
> EDIT: I have modified Gimli's accent, so it doesn't interfere as much with the ease of reading. Thank you all who pointed out that this was less than fun to read.


	3. The River Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a Dwarf Finds a Hole.

Gimli grumbled to herself, removing her armor and bundling it expertly on top of her pack. "Rivers," she muttered unhappily. "Never can tell what's lurkin' at the bottom of 'em." 

"We don't much like it, either," pointed out the tallest of the hobbits, still shivering a little from their recent foray into the overwhelming snow of Redhorn Pass. "Out of the four of us, I think I'm the only one that can swim, and only a little." 

Gimli's concern for the fate of the halflings surged to life in her chest. No wonder her father still spoke of Bilbo so fondly. How could one not want to protect them? 

"I'll make sure nothin' happens to ya," she pledged. With that in mind, she grudgingly allowed Aragorn to take her armor, so as to lighten her load while she helped the hobbits cross the swift, cold river. It was shallow enough to wade in most places, but as Gimli had always said... you could never tell what was lurking at the bottom.

Aragorn shouldered the heavy bundle, making no comment about the weight that Gimli toted about without complaint or comment. He thought privately that the dwarf must be beastly strong, but carrying the extra weight for a few meters wasn't going to kill him. 

They started to cross, Boromir in front with Gandalf and the Ring-bearer, his sandy-haired bodyguard trailing just behind. Next came Aragorn, trudging through the water just as he had through the mud and the snow and the undergrowth before it. Then Gimli, with the other two hobbits clinging to each of her brawny, tattooed arms. Legolas brought up the rear, being the most sure-footed and the least likely to fall. 

It was going smoothly until they'd almost all crossed. The smallest hobbit, dark-haired Pippin, slipped, squealing with fear. He was on the down-stream side of Gimli, and quickly lost his footing in the swift current, the water swirling around his waist. Gimli spread her feet and hauled Pippin out of the water one-handed, giving him a toss. The hobbit shrieked, then hit the bank with a hefty thud. 

To the layman's eye, Gimli was still as stable as ever, calmly picking up Merry and tossing him after his friend. There was only a couple meters left to go, but the bank was steep. And now the dwarf was listing to the side more obviously. She sloshed forward, a determined set to her jaw - then disappeared. The water swallowed her up without so much as a splash, the current sweeping swift and dark over the spot where she'd vanished.

Legolas cursed under his breath. Panic quickly usurped irritation, however, and when the dwarf failed to emerge from the water, Legolas lunged forward, fighting against the current and depth. 

Heavy, clumsy, unobservant creature... he should've expected this would happen, should've-

Aragorn had just noticed the dwarf's absence, and that scarcely had time to register alarm before Legolas, too, vanished beneath the water, into the dark patch, the hole he might have avoided on his own. 

The ranger turned quickly back into the water, but was stopped - a strong, sturdy hand pulling him back.

"No." Gandalf's voice was firm, nonnegotiable. 

"Didn't you see-? They both went under!" 

"I saw. Wait." 

It couldn't have been more than ten seconds, thirteen at most. To those waiting on the bank, though, it seemed an eternity before the fair, water-darkened head of the elf broke the surface. Legolas was dragging Gimli with him, lithe fingers gripping the back of the dwarf's metal-studded vest. Aragorn surged forward to help, and between the two of them, they managed to heave the waterlogged dwarf up onto the bank. 

Legolas collapsed beside Gimli's still form, gasping, feet still trailing in the water.

"Is he-?" The Ringbearer spoke delicately, eyes wide in his young face. 

Aragorn turned the dwarf on her back. She didn't seem to be breathing. Without a thought for anything else, he gave Gimli a hard blow to the chest. The reaction was immediate. With a deep, retching cough, Gimli rolled over and expelled a large quantity of water from her lungs and stomach. A moment later, she was staggering to her feet, panting and straightening her vest. 

"Should've seen that," she grumbled, sounding hoarse, but relatively unruffled. "Rivers. Can't ever trust 'em." Pushing sopping ginger hair out of her eyes, she turned a grateful look on Aragorn, who shook his head wordlessly and pointed at Legolas, who was only just then pushing himself to his knees. Gimli hesitated. 

"The elf? Surely yer pulling my leg. I didn't just get myself saved by an  _ elf _ ."

"Perhaps I should throw you back, then," Legolas sputtered uncharitably, his hair drizzling steadily onto the stones below. 

"Now, now," Gandalf chided. "Let's not waste time with that sort of talk. A simple 'thank you' will suffice." He turned an expectant look on the dwarf. 

"I-" Gimli looked up at the Wizard, then at the elf, and took a step backward. "Uh, I mean... yes. Yes, thank ya. I... yes." Clearing her throat and looking rather flustered, Gimli turned and stumped away, river water running in dirty rivulets from her hair and clothes as she muttered something under her breath. Indicating to Aragorn that she wanted her armor back, the dwarf glanced over her shoulder at Legolas, only to see that he and Gandalf were both still looking at her. She grumbled something and moved off to strap her armor back on.

"Dwarf gratitude for you," Legolas muttered, and began ringing the water out of his hair and tunic. 

"He thanked you, and that's as much as I think you can expect. It's not like his kin to be effusive on such matters. Even though," and here Gandalf chuckled lightly to himself, "he now owes you a life debt." 

"A life debt?" Legolas glanced at the wizard, brow furled quizzically. "What does that mean?"

"You'll have to find out for yourself." Gandalf straightened his hat and strode, unhelpfully, away.


	4. Life-Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an Elf has difficulty with Dwarvish concepts of Honor.

Legolas couldn't let it go. He couldn't even banish it properly from his mind. Life-debt. There was something like it among his own kind in Mirkwood - how often had he and the members of the Guard saved one another, how deeply had they trusted one another? An image of a red-haired captain came to mind, and he let it drift away again with a feeling of bittersweet fondness. Yes, he knew what a life-debt was to him. But Gandalf had implied something much deeper, much more... formal. If, indeed, anything among the dwarves qualified as formal. 

It was in this frame of mind, and still very uncharitable, that Legolas returned to camp that night, bearing the fruits of a successful hunt. Leaving the two hares with the hobbits, he made his way across the clearing to where Gimli sat, rubbing oil into her studded vest, which was markedly stiff after its dunking earlier in the day. The dwarf looked up at him, thick eyebrows lowering slightly. 

"Aye? What is it, Master Elf?" 

Legolas settled onto his haunches with a sigh. He was seriously beginning to doubt his compulsion to have this conversation. 

"I... Gandalf said something earlier. After the river. A Dwarven custom of some sort. Life-debt." 

He saw Gimli stiffen slightly, and knew the term had probably touched a nerve. What kind of nerve, he wasn't sure.

"Aye." 

When the dwarf didn't expound, Legolas made a little, 'well?' gesture. 

"You'll have to forgive my ignorance. I'm not particularly well-versed in dwarven culture." If there was an acidic tone to the words, Gimli didn't seem to hear it. The dwarf studied him for a long time, then sighed, the force of the breath ruffling her beard. It looked surprisingly glossy, Legolas noticed. He'd never bothered looking at it up close before. 

"When a dwarf owes a life-debt to another, they're... bound in service to 'em until the debt is repaid; either 'til death, or 'til the debt is mutual. So... I'm at yer service." Gimli made a peculiar gesture, twisting her right hand over her breastbone so the palm faced outward. Usually, it wouldn't have been noticeable, taken for dusting off her tunic. In this case, the dwarf had to stop what she was doing in order to make the gesture, which indicated that it was important.

"At my service?" Legolas repeated the offer, trying to work out how this might actually affect him. "No, I don't think that's necessary. I thank you all the same, but I can look out for myself." 

The elf wasn't precisely certain what drove him to absolve the dwarf of any debt, except that perhaps he wished for no bond - however formal - between them. The sooner this quest was over and they never had to see each other again, the better.

This, apparently, was very much the wrong thing to say. Where he'd seen expressions of insult or frustration on the dwarf's face, now Gimli looked... well, there was no better word for it, really. Offended. Deeply offended. Gimli said nothing, though, and turned his bearded face away, returning to the task of oiling his vest, just as though Legolas didn't exist anymore.

Legolas deeply resented the immediate guilt that nipped at his insides. It wasn't fair. 

"I meant no offense, Master Dwarf. I just... I don't want you to feel any obligations toward me. The way I see it, we're better off the way we are."  _ Keeping our distance _ . 

Unpleasant memories were trying to claw their way back to the surface, memories of dwarves and their trespasses, memories of friends he'd lost because of them. Tauriel, mortally wounded defending the dwarf she'd betrayed her king to save. 

No. Friendships between dwarves and elves simply weren't meant to be. 

Gimli's hands paused for a moment, and his beard bobbed a little against his chest as he took a breath before speaking. 

"Rejecting a life-debt or my attempts to repay it... ya might as well say I'm bound 'til death, because my service is meaningless." The dwarf turned slightly to look at Legolas, brown eyes intense. "Ya  _ know _ that. Ya must. Yer an elf. Elves know everything."

"I didn't realize... " Legolas trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Master Dwarf. When you put it that way, I see I must accept your offer of service." Thranduil wouldn't approve, naturally, but then... he didn't have to know. And anyway, this quest was bigger than any of their racial quarrels. Cooperation seemed a worthwhile aim, even if the means was less than desirable.


	5. Moria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a Dwarf Grieves

The rocks finished settling with a rough grinding noise that made Gimli cringe. The sound of abused stone. Then all was stillness, darkness, and dust. There was no light at all, and even her excellent night-vision could pierce the blackness about them. But she didn't need to be able to see. She knew, with the certainty of grief, that they were surrounded by her dead kin, those she'd so looked forward to seeing again, sharing stories with. There was nothing left here but death and decay, and they were trapped in the endless tunnels and caverns... at her request. 

"This ain't the way it ought to be," she muttered, her rough voice echoing off the stone walls in a comforting, yet eerie way. "Balin should’ve been here."

"We'll make do with what we have," said Gandalf softly, and lit his staff as one might light a candle, only without flame. "In the meantime, I suggest we proceed quietly, and with caution."

As the others fell into line behind Gandalf, Legolas found that he was once more bringing up the rear, after Gimli. 

"I hope you're satisfied," he said icily. "You pushed so hard for this." Legolas most definitely wasn't in the mood to be understanding. They'd nearly lost the Ringbearer to a tentacled monster, and marched into what might well be a death trap - all because the dwarf wouldn't shut up about his precious Moria and his cousin Balin. This dark, cold chamber made his skin crawl, and he couldn't fathom the idiocy of coming here in the first place. 

Gimli opened her mouth to retort, but realized that not only would she be repeating herself ("It shouldn't have been this way.") but it would make no difference at all. The elf had never been in a mead hall, or even set foot in a thriving dwarf kingdom. He wouldn't understand. 

So, with a sigh, she let it go, turned her eyes to the front and trudged on. Like an ox under the yoke, she plowed over and through everything in her path. When Gandalf called her to the front, she went, but she was little help, in these unfamiliar halls, and soon returned to the rear, with the elf. 

The thoughts circled again and again and again in her mind as the days slipped by, and only her stone-sense kept her oriented. This should have been a safe place, a refuge. This ought to have been a pleasant, rowdy kingdom. Under her cousin's guidance, it should have been prosperous. 

They'd been underground nearly a week when they found the tomb. 

_ Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria _

"No." Gimli stood numbly over the tomb, staring down at the runes. "No... this ain't how it should be. This ain't-" She stopped when Gandalf put a hand on her shoulder.

This was difficult, Legolas decided. He'd been angry with the dwarf for insisting they come here, angrier still that they were trapped in here, but really... this wasn't Gimli's fault. Not as much as he'd made it out to be. Clearly, things had gone terribly wrong since the last time the dwarf had heard from his kin in Moria. He hadn't expected to find, well,  _ this _ . 

Anger had driven the elf on through the dark and quiet these past few days, but it had faded. Now he was left with an odd sort of empathy. A terrible thing it must be, to find one's people destroyed, one's kin unexpectedly dead instead of thriving. 

Gandalf offered words of comfort to the mourning dwarf, while Aragorn and Boromir scouted the chamber and the hobbits huddled together, trembling with dread. The dead were many, scattered across the floor or leaning against the walls, some still with weapons in hand. One, resting against the side of Balin's tomb, clutched a large, heavy-looking tome, and Legolas retrieved it silently, handing it over to the wizard.

"If I'm not mistaken," Gandalf said somberly, nodding toward the dusty, partially-mummified corpse, "this was Ori."

Gimli shuddered, hiding her face in her hands as she stepped quickly away from the others. 

"Gimli knew him?" Legolas asked delicately, slanting a glance at the retreating dwarf. 

Gandalf glanced at the elf and nodded. "Yes. In fact, you met him once or twice. Part of Thorin's Company. One of the few not related to him." He ran his finger across the age-blurred lines of text, murmuring the words aloud as he translated them from the old runes. 

Legolas briefly considered following Gimli, but decided (and  _ not _ because it made him uncomfortable) to let the dwarf grieve on his own. 

That was when everything started to go wrong. One of the hobbits knocked a skeleton down a well, making a terrible racket, and then came the drums. Drums pounding faster and louder and nearer. 

"Orcs." Aragorn withdrew his head swiftly from the hall outside, an arrow embedding itself in the door near his temple. 

"Let 'em come!" Gimli leapt onto the tomb, grasping her battle ax tightly, eyes gleaming with a combination of anger and tears. "My kin thirst for vengeance, my ax for the blood of their enemies."

It struck Legolas as oddly eloquent for such a moment, but he hadn't time to comment.

In the end, the waves of goblins ceased, their chieftain hewn down by the combined efforts of the defenders, Gimli's ax embedded in its throat beside a yellow-fletched arrow. Frodo, however, lay unmoving on the floor, the chieftain's spear beneath him. 

A collective hush of horror settled over the fellowship as they turned at last to the Ringbearer. Gently, Aragorn turned the halfling over. As if stirred from some stupor, Frodo coughed to life, clutching his chest, wincing. 

"He's alive." Relief settled over them all as Aragorn unbuttoned Frodo's shirt. A flash of silver in the torchlight, a vest of tiny, carefully woven rings.

"Mithril," Gimli said wonderingly.

"A gift from my aunt," Frodo offered, voice croaky and weak. "Thorin gave it to her." 

Legolas almost hated to acknowledge that the gift of a dwarf had just saved their quest. It was easier to swallow now, somehow, than it might've been. 

"A kingly gift indeed," murmured Gimli. "That shirt alone would be worth..."

"More than the value of the Shire," finished Gandalf. "I never told Billa. No doubt Thorin knew, though."

Gimli helped Frodo to his feet, and almost immediately gave way to the Ringbearer's faithful friends, who supported him as he limped toward the door. 

"We need to leave, and quickly. More will come." As the others moved toward the door and the hall beyond, Gimli hung back, looking at the now smashed a desecrated tomb. 

"Gimli, come on. We don't have time." Legolas wasn't sure why he'd spoken. Surely someone else would have. The dwarf didn't turn. Not yet. 

"Goodbye, Cousin." Her voice was husky, rough with emotion. But the farewell was said, and she renewed her grip on her ax, turning to follow Gandalf's light.


	6. Lothlorien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Gimli is Right and Haldir is Smug

The trees loomed impressively over them, seeming to leer unpleasantly from a very great height. This wood, so austere and noble, didn't seem at all friendly. Gimli pulled the hobbits closer to her, her ax poised in one hand. 

"Stay close to me, friends. Ya can never tell what might be lurking in woods like this. My father and his companions were once ambushed by giant spiders, nearly eaten, then taken captive by wild wood elves, all in one day." Merry and Pippin were looking nervous, and the dwarf gave them an encouraging smile. "Just stay close. I'll make sure nothing bad happens. No spiders or elves will get ya as long as I'm here."

Legolas wondered whether the dwarf was trying to be funny, then decided the possibility was slim. "Yes, I'd certainly hate very much being 'gotten' by elves. Nasty creatures, all and sundry." 

He smirked at Aragorn, who managed a small smile in return. The thought of Lady Arwen being lumped in with spiders and ‘nasty creatures’ probably would have amused him had he been at all inclined toward mirth.

"We're in no danger here, Gimli," the ranger pointed out tiredly. "The realm of the Lady of Light is, perhaps, the safest place in Middle-earth right now." 

Gimli seemed torn, but after a long moment, she reluctantly put her ax away. "Times change. There was a day when the Greenwood was a place of peace and plenty."

What history had this dwarf studied, wondered Legolas, that he referenced the Greenwood by its proper name? 

"Don't move." A clear voice, speaking with an unmistakably Elvish accent, spoke very near Gimli's ear. The dwarf spat a startled curse in Khuzdul and froze, one hand on her ax, the other wrapped protectively around Pippin. They were surrounded. Keen arrow points angled toward hearts and eyes. Not even Legolas was spared. 

The leader of the patrol stepped between her warriors, seemingly unarmed and smirking faintly. 

"The dwarf is right, you know. Never can be sure what's lurking. Who are you, and what are you doing in Lothlorien? Speak quickly." The speaker was a fair-haired elf with a naturally smiling face and bright, cheerful eyes. Right now that face was set in stern lines, and it wasn't hard to believe she would run any one of them through, if they were a threat.

Legolas' eyes were drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet. He truly hadn't seen a more beautiful elleth since... well. He strove to turn that thought aside, distracting himself with supplementing Aragorn's rather meandering elvish explanation. 

"We seek only the advice of the Lady, and whatever succor she is willing to provide us." 

"You are known to me, Legolas Thranduilion." The elleth bowed slightly, and her warriors lowered their weapons. "I am chief watcher of Lothlórien's borders. Haldir." She glanced at Gimli, distaste clear as anything on her features. "Tell me, Prince, how is it that you bring a dwarf within the realm of Lady Galadriel? We have not had dealings with their kind since the dark days." 

Legolas opened his mouth, but drew a blank on witty retorts. He blamed that, naturally, on his currently ambiguous feelings toward the dwarf. This had nothing to do with Haldir's... anything. Nothing to do with Haldir. Aragorn beat him to the answer, his expression grave. 

"The dwarf is Master Gimli, son of Gloin, and our friend. He's been as loyal a companion as anyone could wish." Aragorn, who had been speaking in Elvish before, how spoke plainly in Westron, attracting the eyes of the rest of the Fellowship. Haldir looked unconvinced, but relaxed a bit of her haughty reserve. 

"Your loyalty is admirable, Estel, but it changes very little. You may come within, if you wish, but the dwarf stays at the border."

Gimli bristled like a cornered dog. "Aye, and gladly, too. I've had quite enough of you pointy-eared-" 

"Gimli." Aragorn's voice became sharp, and the dwarf subsided, muttering under her breath. "Our Fellowship has been through much. We seek only rest. If rest at the border is all you can grant, Haldir, then we shall accept and be grateful for it."

Haldir seemed to consider momentarily, glancing at her companions dubiously as though this decision might be potentially deadly.

"I will grant you safe passage to the city," she said finally. "But the dwarf... must have his eyes bound first." 

"If Gimli is to be blindfolded, then so will we all," replied Aragorn evenly. When Haldir looked at Legolas, there was a sort of apprehension in her face. The elven prince realized that she was waiting for confirmation, and reluctantly nodded. It was important to present a united front, as a Fellowship. He was doing this for political reasons. 

But when he glanced at Gimli, the dwarf was giving him an odd look, and he couldn't read the meaning behind that thick ginger beard. 

Gimli grudgingly submitted to being blindfolded, but swatted the slender elven hands away from her weapons. "I'll not walk unarmed when ya still think I'm an enemy," she growled, and it was only after Aragorn willingly surrendered his weapons as well that the dwarf gave up her axes, hatchets, and knives. 

Blindfolded as she was, she couldn't see if anyone else gave up their weapons, but she supposed it didn't matter. Still, she wondered if Legolas still wore his bow. It was almost a comfort to think he did, though, with the way he'd been watching the she-elf... Gimli swallowed hard against the urge to mutter something insulting about jumped-up forest guards. The impulse was unfounded and she knew it. How often had her father told her about how the Mirkwood captain, Tauriel, had fought side-by-side with them in the Battle of the Five Armies, and ultimately gave her life to save that of the king's younger sister-son? 

The trek was a long one, and confusing to the dwarf's senses, hampered as they were by the open spaces and lack of stone. When at last they stopped, it was only after a steep, unpleasant climb. Gimli didn't trust it, and was tense with anxiety by the time they were allowed to pull off the blindfolds. Immediately, she was dazzled by soft, silver light, lanterns hung at intervals along flimsy-looking bridges, narrow walkways and broad platforms, all suspended many feet above the forest floor. The trees here were absolutely massive, as big around as some of the halls in Ered Luin. Gimli found herself reluctantly impressed by this elven city. 

Haldir was smirking, and Gimli scowled at her. 

"Look well, Dwarf," said the border guard archly. "None of your kin have seen this place in over an Age. No doubt, you shall be the last." 

"Is that a threat, ya tree-mated hussy?" Gimli snarled, her ire roused once again. "Gimme my ax and I'll show ya how-"

_ Peace, Gimli, daughter of Gloin. You are among friends. _

The smooth, soft female voice in her mind was accompanied by the briefest of visions, piercing blue eyes, framed by glowing golden hair. Gimli fell silent, stunned and confused, but obedient. What sort of elf magic was this?

_ Come, friends. We are waiting. _

From the looks on the faces of her companions, Gimli could only assume that they had heard as well. Haldir, her expression slightly shame-faced, indicated for them to follow, and led them up a tight spiral stair, to the royal audience chamber above.


	7. Galadriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a Dwarf Loses her Cool. Twice.

Quiet words were exchanged, the Lady giving soft comfort to the Fellowship. It was only as Aragorn bowed his head and looked away that Legolas noticed something was wrong with the dwarf. Gimli was swaying from one side to the other, shaking her head from side to side like an aggravated mule. 

Within Gimli's mind, a war raged. She swung her head to and fro, trying to shake it loose, but the guilt raged on like a wild beast, laying waste to every comfort she could find. Eventually, she could hold it in no more.

"It's not my fault!" The dwarf's voice cracked as she let the words burst from her, an undignified quaver to the last word seeming to indicate intense distress. "It was supposed to be a  _ safe _ place. We were going to rest there and move on - I didn't know it was going to be so wrong!" Though no one moved, no one spoke, Gimli made sharp gestures, as though warding off blows. 

"It's not my fault," she repeated, almost pleadingly. "It was a mistake." 

Haldir traded another look with Legolas, grief temporarily overwhelmed by surprise and... maybe even a touch of pity. Dwarves were a stoic people. Seeing one of their kind so obviously distressed was rather unsettling.

"I made no mention of blame," Legolas said, moving to steady the clearly rather unstable dwarf. "It was... a mistake. Simply a mistake." 

He wasn't sure why he felt it necessary to offer Gimli comfort, but perhaps he - like Haldir - recognized the shame of a dwarf showing such emotion. Perhaps he understood, simply from his own burden of guilt, something of what it must be like to carry it in its entirety, as Gimli surely was.

In any case, it wouldn't do to have the dwarf go completely unhinged in the presence of  _ Lady Galadriel _ . That, he decided, was the only excuse he needed.

"You are all weary," the queen intoned softly. "In the past few weeks, you have faced what few in this world have faced, and not one of you is unchanged. Go now and rest. Haldir will show you our hospitality." 

She smiled, her enigmatic gaze lighting upon each of them in turn. "I shall speak with you again soon, when you have taken the rest you require."

Haldir bowed deeply to her queen before turning to lead the weary travelers away. Gimli was breathing hard, but after a moment, she smoothed her hair and beard, cleared her throat, and shrugged off Legolas' hand. 

"Sorry ya had to see that," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. Ahead of them, Frodo could be heard speaking quietly to Aragorn. 

"I could hear her... in my head."

They descended the ramp-like stairs to the forest floor in relative silence, and Gimli made no more comment, to Legolas or to anyone else. Boromir clapped her encouragingly on the shoulder and told her it was alright, but she didn't respond. 

Haldir showed them to a grotto where they could rest in relative privacy, and arranged for food and supplies to be brought to them. That finished, the elleth retreated, though not before pausing near Legolas once more. She studied him for a long time, as though attempting to read his soul with her pale grey eyes. 

Legolas momentarily lowered his head. "Hannon le. You have been most kind." 

Haldir bowed in turn. The light breeze tousled her nearly white locks and stirred up some of the golden leaves blanketing the floor of the grotto. 

"I am honored to have been your guide, Prince Legolas." She hesitated slightly, as though deciding whether it would be unwise to say more. "If you... if the times to come are less evil, perhaps you might... return to us. It is not often we are visited by our kin in the Woodland Realm." 

Legolas nodded a little, thinking that he could probably imagine a reason or two to visit Lothlorien again in the near future. It was then, of course, that the entire conversation was completely ruined by the intrusion of a squat, ginger-bearded figure with an ill-tempered scowl. 

"My axes?" Gimli demanded, seeming more uncharitable than usual, even for speaking with an elf. Haldir's icy disapproval was back in an instant. 

"You're to receive your weapons when you leave our lands." She paused slightly, distaste crossing her face. "If I don't misplace them." 

"I've half a mind to challenge ya fer talk like that." 

Legolas put a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "She'll give them back. Don't give her cause to change her mind." 

Haldir made a light scoffing sound. "Rest at ease, dwarf. These borders are well-guarded. You've no need of your axes here." 

Gimli grumbled into her beard, but seemed to calm a little under Legolas' hand. Haldir looked from the elven prince to the dwarf, who stood almost squarely between Legolas and Haldir, and made a soft sound of surprise, bright eyes narrowing with mirth. 

"Be careful, friend," she said in Elvish, lifting her gaze to meet Legolas'. "Your bodyguard thinks me quite a threat."

"Bodyguard?" Legolas repeated in elvish, and heard Gimli mutter unhappily. No doubt he didn't enjoy being left out of the discussion.

Haldir chuckled lightly. "Isn't it obvious?" 

Legolas frowned. "Obvious?" Clearly Gimli wasn't the only one in the dark here.

The elleth smiled, shaking her head a little. "Unless I miss my guess, I think you'll know soon enough." She turned to leave, her grey wool cloak fluttering out behind her.

"Wait." Legolas brushed past Gimli, stopping Haldir with a hand. "What are you getting at?" 

The elleth glanced at him, then pointedly looked over his shoulder. Following her gaze, Legolas saw that Gimli had followed them the half-dozen steps from the shelter, and was now frowning up at them from just behind his own position, right on his heels. 

"I'd ask ya to speak plain Westron, but I doubt either of ya would listen," the dwarf grumbled. 

Whatever Haldir was trying to imply was still completely beyond him. Legolas felt the elleth slip out from under his hand, as fluid as water. A silver laugh rippled in her wake, slightly bitter, and she left without another word. 

"What was all that about, eh?" asked Gimli, staring distrustfully after the elleth.

"Nothing." The decisiveness of the word rang slightly hollow, and Legolas scrambled to fill it in a bit. "She's... concerned. I let her know you weren't a threat." 

The elf turned back toward the shelter, pausing a moment so it wasn't blatantly obvious he was changing the subject. "I think you'd best take some rest, Master Dwarf. I know it's been... difficult for you." 

Gimli huffed, ruffling her beard as she turned away. What had made her go and mouth off to Haldir in the first place... yes, well, the she-elf deserved it. She was clearly untrustworthy and had no concept of a warrior's respect. Grumbling softly to herself, she glanced back at Legolas. 

"Sleep well, Prince," she grunted, and trundled off to her own pallet, near those of the hobbits.


	8. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a Dwarf's Hearing is Quite Keen

The evening passed in blessed peace, the stars overhead wheeling slowly above the high treetops. The grotto was cool and pleasant, the sound of breeze and trickling water soothing to the ear. The Fellowship bedded down here and there, the hobbits clumped together near Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir off on their own. Legolas, however, sat with his back against the bole of a mallorn on the far side of the grotto, tilting his gaze skyward. 

He was soon lost in a daze somewhere between sleeping and waking, claimed by visions of what had passed these last few weeks. It was the elven way, and he'd already delayed too long in his remembering.

Caradhras. The Watcher. Moria. The Balrog. Gandalf's last stand. That memory shivered through him, the terror renewed, the threat once again all too immediate. 

"Gandalf. Wait!  _ Wait! _ "

The plea fell upon deaf ears. The wizard would not turn, wouldn't make a run for it. As before, he slid from the sundered bridge, vanishing into the dark after the falling flames. 

"I could have stopped him," the elf whispered to himself, eyes still closed, heart awash with regret. "Could have saved him." 

Gimli heard. 

More importantly, Gimli listened. 

Contrary to popular belief, a dwarf's hearing is very keen, and a dwarf can close them when necessary, muffling the world and potentially saving his eardrums from damage due to cave-ins, minor explosions, forges and furnaces. But Gimli had never been in a mine. In fact, she had spent the majority of her life under the open sky, which gave her ears no reason to be closed or damaged.

And while hearing the whisper of an elf in a quiet grotto wasn't a supremely extraordinary feat, hearing this particular elf in this particular grotto on this particular night... was special. Maybe, if Legolas had been less preoccupied, he might have noticed that their resident dwarf wasn't snoring - an excellent indication that she wasn't asleep. 

But Gimli was the only one that knew. The only one that heard. And the only one who, in that moment, felt a deep kinship with the elf and his raw guilt. 

She swore silently that she would never speak a word of it, but she knew that kinship would change... everything.


	9. Rauros Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Gifts are Discussed

"What did she give you, Sam? I didn't see."

"Rope. Real Elvish rope."

"Can I touch it?" 

The hobbits chattered pleasantly with one another across the narrow channels of water between the boats. Gimli sat, disgruntled, at the prow of one of the boats, unable to row because she was too short. She had wanted to be useful. 

"What about you, Mr. Gimli? I didn't see her give you anything." Pippin was looking at his dwarf friend with a curious light in his eyes, and Gimli hesitated, glancing across the gap at the second boat, where Legolas rode in the stern, keen eyes trained on the bank. 

"Aye, lad. That's because I didn't ask for anything. The cloak was enough."

Legolas was, of course, listening in, and he turned his head at this, catching the dwarf's gaze just as it darted away from him. 

"Strange that the Lady would give gifts so freely to those who requested nothing, and then pass over you altogether." 

Legolas wasn't sure he had much cause to be suspicious. It might simply be that Galadriel had nothing more to offer a dwarf, or that she  _ had _ offered something and Gimli had refused it. It needn't have been that Gimli was  _ hiding _ whatever gift the Lady had given him.

"And what could I want from an elf?" Gimli muttered. She said nothing more on the subject, not then, or that night, or the next. Their conversations were mainly about the journey ahead, their destination, and what they would do once they got home. The hobbits comprised the greater part of this last subject, though it was a marvel they found so much to talk about when all they were going to do was smoke, drink, and plant things in gardens. Sam mentioned a woman, once, but he turned pink and quickly dropped the subject. Curiously, Gimli seemed flustered also, and shortly thereafter, opted to go fishing. 

It was on one such stop when everything went wrong. The Ringbearer went missing, then orcs attacked... Frodo and Sam disappeared, Merry and Pippin were taken, and Boromir was filled with a frankly ridiculous number of arrows. 

Gimli looked on as the Gondorian breathed his last, and gripped her ax tighter. "Is this what it comes to, then? Did we fail? Can't even protect the little ones from orcs."

Legolas lowered his head, experiencing a pang of deep shame. It wasn't as if it was  _ their _ fault cross-bred orcs came out of nowhere, that the Fellowship had gotten separated. They'd just been incredibly unlucky. But figuring out who shared what blame made no difference now. It was what it was. A failure that could have very broad implications. 

"Now is not the time for despair, but for doing what we must." Aragorn removed Boromir's bracers, strapping them on his own forearms (Legolas noted they bore a white tree crowned with stars). "Boromir must be laid to rest, and we must hunt down those who have taken the halflings. Frodo's fate is in our hands no longer." 

Legolas exchanged a glance with Gimli. There was a glimmer of hope now, a purpose, a goal. A bond between the three that transcended the differences between them all. Legolas felt it now more strongly than ever. He felt he could trust these two with his life, and that, where a dwarf was concerned, was no small thing.


	10. Rohan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Gimli Rides a Horse

It was a good thing, the dwarf reflected, that she'd been so numbed by grief and failure, so keen to make up for it. If that hadn't been the case, the next days would have been an end to her part in the quest. No rest, hardly any food, and at the end of an impossible trek, a horde of hostile horsemen in ill temper. 

All she'd done was ask for a proper introduction, and all of a sudden, there were spears pointing at her from all sides! The world was dead set against her surviving this idiotic quest.

That seemed all but certain a bare moment later, when the leader of the horsemen dismounted, sword tight in his fist. "You ask for my name, dwarf? You, who would  _ dare _ to trespass in these lands of my uncle the king? I'd cut off your head, if I didn't have to stoop to do it."

When Legolas knew himself again, both daggers were in his hands, the edges crossed at the throat of the fair-haired man. 

"You would do well to keep idle threats to yourself, sir. I'd kill you before you touched him." 

"Legolas." Aragorn frowned, putting a hand on the elf's shoulder, and Legolas reluctantly lowered his weapons. A sharp glance at Gimli stopped her from lifting her ax, though she dearly wanted to. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas, son of Thranduil. Our friends were taken by orcs, and we've been tracking them. A group of Uruk-hai came this way last night. Have you seen them?" 

Aragorn's urgent tone seemed to persuade the horsemen in a way that little else might have. The fair-haired leader lowered his sword. 

"We routed them in the night. Piled their carcasses and left them to burn this morning."

Gimli felt a surge of near-desperation. "Did ya see two hobbits with 'em? Little folk, like children."  _ Oh, Mahal, please don't let us have failed again. _

Legolas, despite his outward composure, was still reeling. What, exactly, had come over him? It was as if Gimli were more than... but no. That was ridiculous. He was tired and irrational and didn't think either of those two states would be changing any time soon.

"If they were among the Uruks, I fear the worst." The horseman shook his head with an almost-sadness, replacing his helmet. He whistled, calling out unfamiliar names. Immediately, two horses trotted forward through the slackening ring of riders, and the leader took hold of their reins. "A gift. You'll cross the plains more swiftly. May better fortune await you than that of their former masters."

Two horses. That meant doubling up. Logic dictated the elf and dwarf would share a mount, since Legolas was considerably lighter than Aragorn, and Gimli somewhat heavier.

As the riders moved off over the nearby rise, Legolas turned to the dwarf. "Come, Gimli. I'll help you up." Best not to make mention of... what had just happened. It wasn't something he felt at all comfortable explaining. Not  _ now _ , anyway.

But when he looked at his bearded companion, he found the dwarf regarding the horse with open distrust. Gimli glanced at him, then coughed, smoothing down his beard unhappily. 

"I'll just... continue on foot, shall I?" 

"You can't," said Aragorn shortly, already comfortably in the saddle and looking down at the dwarf with a frown. "You'd never be able to keep up, and we have no time to waste." 

Grumbling in her own tongue, Gimli sidled reluctantly closer to Legolas' mount, gaze darting nervously between the beast's mouth and its hard, shiny hooves. Even as Legolas knelt, offering his knee and interlaced hands as steps up to the horse's broad back, Gimli hesitated. 

"Yer sure this is… necessary?" 

Legolas nodded, studying his companion uncertainly. So shortly on the heels of that… whatever-it-had-been with the Rohirrim, he wasn't sure what to think of this. Was it… fear? He'd never seen the dwarf afraid, not even when their lives were in peril. Now this? Afraid of a horse? On an impulse he didn't quite understand, Legolas spoke. "I won't let you fall." 

Gimli's beard twitched with something that might have almost been a smile. "It's not falling that puts me on edge, lad. But thank ya all the same." Then, seeming reluctant to wait any longer, even for her own fear, the dwarf stepped up onto Legolas' knee, up to his hands, then scrambled up onto the horse's back like she was climbing a haystack. 

"Quickly now, friends, quickly." Aragorn turned his steed toward the pillar of smoke that marked the position of the routed Uruks. In a trice, Legolas was in the saddle in front of her, and with a soft word, the elf sent the horse springing forward after their leader. Gimli yelped and clung to her companion, wrapping her sturdy arms about his waist and hanging on for dear life. Whoever's idiotic idea it was to use horses, it was their own fault if people started to talk.

But that was a silly idea, anyway. There wasn't anyone around to see, and certainly a pile of dead Uruk-hai wouldn't be scandalized by a dwarf clinging like a leech to the back of an elf.

Legolas had had little physical interaction with Gimli up until now, and certainly hadn't considered just how much strength might be in the dwarf's arms. He thought there might be some bruising along his sides when all this was over, but he wasn't about to say anything. There was something... pleasant about the hands, despite how tightly they clung to him. Something solid and sturdy and warm. 

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but as they reached the source of the smoke, such things fled his mind quickly. The near certainty of another failure loomed as high and hideous before them as the charred carcasses of the dead. Two halflings alive amongst all this seemed as remote a possibility as Boromir surviving twice as many arrows as he took.

Swiftly, all dismounted and started to search for any sign of the little hobbits among the twisted, disfigured dead. It was Gimli who found the first sign of them. With a cry, she tore at the charred carcasses and ripped from one skeletal hand a length of leather. 

Silence descended as she fingered the tooling, still visible despite the fire damage. "It's one of their wee belts." Her tone sounded merely  _ sad, _ and after her display in Lorien, this seemed hardly grief at all, but her brown eyes were hooded and dark, hinting eloquently at the shame and guilt boiling within. 

Legolas felt the pain of this loss somehow more acutely than any before it. Gandalf had known what he was leading them into. Boromir had willingly given up his life to protect the Ringbearer. But these hobbits? No. They weren't adventurers or warriors. They were loyal friends, following Frodo on a quest they neither controlled nor understood. This was a needless loss of innocence. Idiocy also, perhaps, but innocent all the same.


	11. Edoras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which No One is Ready To Sleep, and Secrets Are Revealed

The hall was dim and quiet, fires crackling faintly in the grates. The guest rooms were well-furnished, but smelled cold, disused and, somehow, dead. Legolas couldn't stay there long. Pacing the corridor was preferable, even if he found little there to ease his nerves. 

Things seemed to be moving so quickly now, events set in motion and now unstoppable. Like a great wave breaking unlooked-for upon them all, bringing with it both hope and despair. Who could have foreseen the return of Gandalf, or the survival of Merry and Pippin? Who, indeed, could have anticipated the swift spread of evil across the lands of Rohan, and the danger marching closer and closer to Edoras itself with each passing hour? Trouble was on every face, whispering on every tongue. 

The elf finished his eleventh circuit of the corridor before noticing something different. 

Gimli. The dwarf had left his room to sit on the bench by the door. At this time of night, it seemed likely he was suffering from the same malady as everyone else.

"Can't sleep?" 

Gimli lifted her head slowly. Her hair was loose and unbraided, and as she looked at the elf, her thick fingers unfastened the beads that held the braids in her beard. It took some doing to untangle them, but at length it was done. 

"It's nights like this when I'd take to my father's desk. Do his paperwork. Or go to spend time in my mother's forge. The night's too quiet to bear the load my mind needs to shed." That unexpected eloquence had surfaced again, thinly veiled by the dwarf's thick Ereborian accent. Gimli sighed, combing her beard with one hand. "Ya know I'll be doing my best to keep you alive through this, aye?"

"Why, Gimli? Why do you...  _ care _ ?" It was, perhaps, the product of nerves and frustration, of not knowing what to expect or what was to come, and Legolas immediately regretted the outburst. He lowered his head with a sigh. "I'm sorry, I... didn't mean it like that." 

The dwarf was quiet for a long moment, then she answered his question calmly. "Because yer my friend." Clear brown eyes lowered and she studied her thick, wide hands. "Maybe I'm a fool. We're not the same. What does it matter, really? So yer an elf. Wouldn't be the first time, would it? I trust ya. That's what counts."

She seemed to be speaking to herself as much as to him, almost lost in thought.

Legolas took a tentative step closer, hesitated, then seated himself beside the dwarf. 

"No. It wouldn't be the first time." He forced the red-haired elleth from his mind once more, along with the face of her dwarven lover. "The thing is, Gimli... I want so badly to stay away from you, to be... disgusted. With you, and all things dwarven. Like most elves are." He glanced away from his companion. "Like my father is." 

This felt rude. Incredibly uppish. But somehow... he felt the dwarf would appreciate his honesty. His gaze moved once more to meet Gimli's, and he was surprised by the vulnerability he saw there. Something far different than the hardness the dwarf seemed to exude, as though he were a living, breathing extension of the Mountain from whence he'd come. 

"I just don't understand," the elf said, voice scarcely above a whisper. "It would be so much easier. But I just... I  _ want _ to be your friend. I want to know... who you really are." 

The brown eyes searched blue for a long, breathless minute. Then Gimli looked down, resumed finger-combing her beard. It wasn't easy to just... but he had, so... why not? 

"Gimli," she said in a rough whisper, "daughter of Gloin, second lieutenant in the Ereborian Guard."

Legolas started to nod, then froze. " _ Daughter _ ? Wait. All this time, you've been..." The inanity of the question caused him to discontinue it, and he huffed a quiet laugh. "And you were angry about  _ me _ being female at the outset of the quest." 

"Aye, well...." Gimli had the grace to look somewhat uncomfortable, and gave Legolas a look. There seemed to be a smile hiding in her eyes now. "I misjudged ya." The dwarf studied his face a moment longer, then returned her attention to her beard, which she had begun to plait once more. The motions were so deft, she must have done it many times before. 

"My father almost didn't let me go. But he'd promised. Back when he forbade me to follow him on the Quest to reclaim Erebor, he promised one day, I'd have a quest of my own. I think he had something else in mind when he said it, though." Gimli smirked, looking pleased with herself.

"I've no doubt." Legolas smiled. "I think my father would have felt rather strongly concerning my participation in this quest. I suppose Elrond knew from the outset how slim our chances of success would be."

He watched the dwarf braiding for a while, half-mesmerized by the smooth, even, and precise movements of Gimli's fingers. He saw her now in a different light, and despite the obvious masculinity of her features, there was definitely something... feminine he'd not noticed before. Or if he had, he'd simply chalked it up to dwarven oddity. 

Gimli threaded the last bead and smoothed her beard, checking to ensure the braids were in the right place. Then, glancing at Legolas, she noticed the slightly dazed look on his face. Maybe the lack of sleep had finally caught up to him.

"Legolas." She tapped his nose lightly. "I think it's about time we go to bed. Tomorrow'll be a long day."

"Does Aragorn know?" Legolas wasn't sure why he'd asked, but the question had apparently caught Gimli off-guard. She looked at him in surprise. 

"No. No one knew but Gandalf."

"And... Lady Galadriel? Did she know?" The events of the previous weeks replayed now in flashes like glimpses through a dark curtain, now slightly reframed in his recollection. Certain behaviors, certain  _ looks _ ... it made more sense. Still, it was a lot to process. "Is that why she... passed over you in her gift-giving?" 

Gimli huffed agitatedly and stood, making a point of straightening her tunic and vest before answering.

"Aye. She knows. And I told ya before, I told her the cloak was enough fer me and left it at that." Not that  _ Galadriel _ had left it at that, but that was more information than she was willing to share at the moment. She could still remember most of the advice the Lady had given her about winning over an elf's heart, and the gentle warning about Legolas' immortality and how he would eventually sail into the West. The dwarf had, of course, made a lot of fuss over it, explaining (repeatedly) that she was in no way romantically interested in an elf of any sort. 

It sounded hollow to her now. But Legolas didn't need to know. She would be his bodyguard, and that was all she could ask for. It was a burden and a blessing, all at once. 

Legolas raised his hands in a token of surrender. Clearly, he'd touched a bit of a nerve. Not that he could blame the dwarf. They were all on edge, as he'd so beautifully demonstrated mere minutes before.

"I didn't mean to imply you'd been less than truthful. I just..." He studied his companion's face, hoping she wasn't of a mind to leave in a huff. "I thought she might have..." He turned away quickly. "Never mind. I'm just... rambling." When he looked at her again, his eyes had brightened somewhat. "Would you... care to join me for a drink?" 

That was a rather silly invitation, he thought in retrospect. The humans didn't have much in the way of good wine, and he thought for certain their ale wouldn't much appeal to either of them. Still... taking the edge off the tension seemed about as good an idea as any, since sleep seemed as remote a possibility right now as Gimli revealing she was half  _ hobbit _ as well as female.

The dwarf gave him a surprised glance, then relaxed, a smile twitching under her beard. 

"Alright. Can't say these folk'll have elven wine laying about, but they might have some half-decent ale, if we look in the right places." And now that they had a common interest and goal, it seemed like the tension between them evaporated. Gimli seemed practically cheerful as she led the way down to the kitchens, where they found a dozing servant and were directed to the cellar. Gimli expertly selected a small cask of ale and directed Legolas to grab tankards for them. With amazing stealth, considering her sturdy bulk and heretofore unmuffled footfalls, the dwarf made her way past the sleepy servant and back up the stairs again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, this is the chapter we wrote right before taking several months off of writing Gigolas because Real Life Sucks Sometimes and also we wanted to work on some original fiction, so if the tone or style change after this chapter, it's because there was a huge gap here you're not seeing.


	12. Edoras; Drinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Dwarf teases an Elf, and all parties drink an 'Elf Brew.'

They settled at a small table set into an alcove, which gave them quiet and privacy, and Legolas filled the tankards, sliding one towards Gimli. 

"Here's to..." Legolas blinked mutely a moment, tankard frozen mid-raise as he tried to decide what on earth they should toast. "Here's to... Frodo and Sam. They'll need all the luck they can get." 

It was weighing on all their minds, as well it should have. Without the success of the Ringbearer, anything they did from here on out was futile. They hoped only to do what they could to protect those in the most immediate danger.

"To Frodo and Sam," Gimli agreed soberly, and took a deep draught of her ale. It was a little on the weak side for her taste, too light, but it didn't have a bad flavor. "Hm... a little bitter, but nutty. Not bad." She drank again, emptying her tankard and setting it down with a sigh. 

"I honestly don't know what Gandalf expects us to do here. Rohan's on her last legs. Even with her king under his own power, how're they supposed to stop Saruman?"

Legolas frowned into his still nearly full tankard. The ale went down alright, but the aftertaste was less than pleasant. "The king's overconfident. If he thinks for an instant that Helm's Deep will withstand what Saruman intends to bring, I question whether he ever returned to sanity at all." 

The elf glanced up at Gimli, watching with some interest as she carefully dabbed at what droplets of ale had escaped down her beard. The lustrous red locks seemed almost to glow in the dim firelight, reminding him all too much of the way another female's hair looked under similar light, or beneath the radiant sun. Would he ever be free of her? Or of the guilt, at least, that he'd been too late to save her? 

"One thing is certain," he said finally, forcing himself back into the present. "We'll not go down without a fight, but it may be too little too late." 

Gimli gave her companion a grin, the light of battle-lust bright in her brown eyes. In this, she was very much like the rest of her kind, always eager to prove her strength. "Then we'll make an account of ourselves. Take such a number with us that Isengard and Mordor will be emptied before we're done. Nothing can stop us."

Legolas had to smile a little at the dwarf's optimism, misplaced or not. "I'll drink to that," he said softly, and raised his tankard. Thankfully, Gimli had just finished pouring herself another ale, so he wasn't the  _ only _ one drinking to it.

"I hadn't thought I might die so soon," the elf said after a moment, absently running a finger up and down the smooth clay handle of the tankard. "I know compared to you and your kind, we elves seem to have endless days - infinite time in which to complete what we wish - but... I feel I've done scarcely anything with my life. There was so much more I wanted to do. So much more."

He nudged Gimli's hand where it rested on the table. "It must be the same for you; you are young yet, and have many years ahead of you." 

"I'm almost a hundred and fifty," said Gimli defensively, which was a mark of how young she still felt. But after a moment, she sighed. "Aye. Seems like my majority was only yesterday." Pause. "Still, no greater cause than this, eh? Fighting the spawn of Morgoth. Age of elves is ending, dwarves fading. Time fer men to take back their land. And who better to lead 'em than Aragorn? Just a Ranger, my eye. He's a king, right enough. All he's missing is a crown." Gimli paused, realizing at once that her tankard was empty again and that she'd been rambling for some time. Mumbling an apology, she looked away.

"It's alright." Legolas chuckled lightly. "I... like it. It's nice to talk so freely. I feel as though we've... held back much that would have been better spoken openly."

He twitched slightly as a door opened further down the hall, footsteps soft, well-placed. Elven footsteps, or at least those of one who'd grown up among Elves. Considering Gimli had just been speaking about a certain ranger, the timing was rather eerie.

"I guess Aragorn couldn't sleep either." 

Gimli looked up in time to see Aragorn cross the hall to join them. He had deep shadows under his eyes, but he seemed resignedly alert. 

"Taking a break, are we?" he asked softly, pausing by their table. Gimli chuckled. 

"Aye, from wearing a path in the floor. Sleep's a rare gift these days."

"A gift one must sometimes take by force." Aragorn moved off toward the kitchens, leaving the others to ponder what he might possibly mean. It became clear a few minutes and drinks later, when the ranger returned bearing two steaming mugs.

"This should do the trick."

Legolas accepted one of the mugs, exchanging a dubious glance with Gimli. "And... what exactly is it?"

Aragorn crossed his arms. "A sleeping draught. Simple, really. Common herbs, specific combinations and proportions. I learned from the best herbalist in Middle-earth." 

"Anything else Lord Elrond taught you that we should know about?" Legolas had only had three tankards now, and, in theory, shouldn't have been even remotely compromised. Still, it was clear he'd discovered a certain uncharacteristic... jocularity. 

Aragorn chuckled faintly and retreated briefly, only to return with a mug of his own. When the man sat down, Gimli looked at him over the rim of her cup. 

"Smells like elf food." Her eyes slid over to Legolas and a smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. She had not only had more to drink, being more enthusiastic about the ale, but was more easily influenced... and clearly teasing her friend.

Legolas sniffed at the drink. " _ Chamomile _ . Definitely chamomile. Don't tell me you dwarves turn your noses up at a good chamomile tea." 

Aragorn paused mid-sip, smirking a little. "Oh, but you haven't guessed the secret ingredient."

"Do I  _ want _ to guess the secret ingredient?" 

The ranger seemed to contemplate this a moment, brow furled like he was already struggling to think in the face of oncoming sleep. "Probably not." He yawned, setting his mug down. Whatever was in the tea was clearly very effective in humans.

"Potent stuff," Legolas commented, sipping the tea more readily. "Come on, Gimli. Don't be shy. It's not bad at all." 

Gimli grumbled something, seeming to put up a fuss for the sake of fussing before she drank the tea swiftly. The heat of the drink didn't seem to bother her at all, and when a third of her tea was gone, she set it down again. 

"Aftertaste is a bit... sweet." Gimli seemed surprised. She looked at Aragorn to ask him something, and found the man yawning again. She chuckled. "Suppose we ought to help him to a bed."

Legolas grinned. "It seems he's had a bit too much of his own medicine." 

Aragorn waved a hand at him sleepily. "I'll be fine. I'm not quite-"

"We're not waiting until you're snoring into the table and we have to carry you. Come, Gimli."

With the dwarf's help, Aragorn was escorted, despite his protests, back to his chambers and tucked into bed. It was a matter of ‘looking out for one another’ and such, Legolas reasoned. 

As they shut the door behind them, Legolas noticed that Gimli's eyelids were beginning to droop a little.

"It's working, isn't it?" 

Gimli ran a hand over her face and stroked her beard for a moment, contemplating. "Aye," she answered at last, "I suppose it is. What would ya say to a walk while we finish that elf brew, and then bed?" She smiled at him, enjoying her newfound freedom to tease the elf about... well, just about everything.

Legolas nodded, and they set off to retrieve their ‘elf brew.’ The effects began to claim the elf very shortly after the dwarf. Whatever Aragorn had mixed into this sleep draught, it must've been very powerful. With a recipe formulated by Lord Elrond, Legolas supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. 

"Do we tell him?" the elf asked after a pause during their second circuit of the hall. "Aragorn?"

"Hm? Tell him about wha'?" Gimli's speech was becoming a little more slurred than usual, but she seemed comfortable and relaxed as they walked together, her elven friend shortening his stride so she could more easily keep up. Legolas gave her a meaningful look. 

"About you."

"Ah, tha'. I don't see why we should. It don't change anything, so why worry him about it?"

"But if he finds out we both knew and... kept it from him?" There was mild concern in Legolas' drowsy voice. "Do you think he'll feel it's a bit of a betrayal? That we couldn't trust him with the secret?" 

Gimli considered this, but it seemed a little too complex to make out very much beyond the potential for hurt feelings. "Would it feel any more like a b'trayal later than it would now?" she asked at last, pausing in a doorway to look out at a broad wooden balcony. "I don't think it's important. Won't change anything."

"I suppose it doesn't." Of course, Legolas found that somewhat difficult to reconcile where it concerned himself. It  _ did _ make a difference. What exactly that difference might be,  remained to be seen.

The stars were already beginning to dim, the sky above the mountain peaks taking on the faintest of glows. 

"I think it would be best," Legolas said softly, "to try to get some sleep. I wish... this night would last longer. I truly do. Your company has been most enjoyable," he smiled, lowering his voice considerably, "milady." 

Gimli made gruff, embarrassed huffing sounds. She snorted at him and mumbled the word "lady" in a very self-deprecating manner. Then, pausing, she bowed to him. 

"Milord." There was a definite tone of teasing to the word, and with this she turned away. Exhaustion had her tottering a little, and the dwarf nearly missed the door to her room, pausing only a foot from the wall to look back at him, in case he'd seen her near-mistake.

Legolas  _ had _ , of course, though he had the good grace to pretend he hadn't. Dwarven pride and all.

"Sleep well," he said softly, ensuring she made it safely into her room before he moved off to his own. Despite his anxiety going into the evening, he had to admit, things had taken a turn for the better. It had been long since he'd drifted off to sleep so warm and content, as though a flame had been kindled within him - one that would not soon be extinguished. 


	13. Warg Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Fights are Fought

The line of refugees from Edoras and all the towns and hamlets they'd passed since leaving it seemed interminable. Stretching endlessly to the rear and fore, Gimli couldn't imagine that anything short of a dwarven fortress would accommodate all these people. Even sitting on the back of a tall horse, the dwarf could see nothing of the beginning or end of the straggling line, disappearing over hills and often reappearing again on the hills beyond. 

"Is it true," asked the blond lady at Gimli's knee, looking up at the dwarf keenly, "that dwarves keep their women like men keep secrets?" She was the king's niece, and Gimli had to forgive her curiosity. If nothing else, it was a good distraction. 

"It's not uncommon," Gimli agreed. "Women are rare among my kin. But even when they go abroad, men don't see dwarf women, they see dwarves. We're so alike in voice and appearance that even the most delicate of our women are often mistaken for dwarf men."

Aragorn, riding behind Gimli with Legolas at his knee, made a significant gesture, as though stroking his chin. "It's the beards," he mouthed, and was rewarded with a laugh from the lady. Gimli chuckled, unaware of her friend's input. 

"In fact, some are convinced that there  _ are _ no dwarf women. Which is ridiculous, of course." She turned in her saddle to look back at Legolas, and caught Aragorn pretending to pet his imaginary beard again. A look of surprise registered on the dwarf's face, and the lady giggled helplessly. Aragorn had the grace to look apologetic. 

"My mother had a beautiful beard," Gimli said archly, and her glance landed hard on Legolas, remembering her father's tale of the elf's comments on his locket and its contents. "She was a Firebeard of noble blood-" 

At that point, something must have spooked her steed. The horse shied and took off at a trot, and Gimli bounced unceremoniously out of the saddle to land in a heap in the grass.

Legolas tried to suppress the panic that instantly surged through him, lunging to where the dwarf had fallen. 

"Are you alright? Gimli!" The elf knelt and lifted the dwarf gingerly, brushing hairs out of her face, and nearly gasped with relief when Gimli blushed crimson and sputtered out an apology. 

"You don't need to be sorry. It wasn't your fault." 

There was a slight pause, the dwarf giving him a slightly mortified look. "I did it on purpose," she announced, rather more loudly than necessary. "It was deliberate. Practicing. Just in case."

The king's niece, now that she was assured Gimli was alright, was laughing again, and Aragorn... the ranger was watching Legolas curiously, the first light of suspicion in his clear eyes.

That tempered the elf's relief a little. It wasn't that he  _ cared _ so much about what the ranger did or didn't suspect concerning his companions; it was just... it wasn't something he wanted to have to explain. It was still a mystery, even to him. 

Gently, he helped the dwarf up. She was still chuckling embarrassedly and explaining what she'd ‘meant to do,’ and how dwarves had little use for horses anyway. 

The elf patted Gimli's shoulder with a hesitant laugh, certain now she was alright. He moved away a bit, sneaking another glance at Aragorn. The ranger didn't need any further distractions. 

The horse was caught and brought back, but Gimli declined to ride, saying firmly that she'd had enough practice for the day, thank you. 

It wasn't long after that, of course, that the scouts came running back toward the column, warning of a warg attack. The warriors mounted up, the villagers panicked, and all went about as smoothly as anyone could expect. Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn rode swiftly to the front of the column to join the king and his men, and in a trice they were thundering down to meet their enemies. It was absolute chaos. 

When at last the final orc had been silenced and the last warg stilled, there were as many men and horses among the dead as there were bodies bearing the White Hand of Saruman. Gimli struggled out from under the carcasses of two of the huge beasts, muttering bad-temperedly about timing and body odor.

"Where's that idiot Ranger? I need to hit something that won't try to rip my head off." Gimli continued her grumbling until she found Legolas, who was interrogating an orc. An orc who held Aragorn's pretty elvish pendant. Gimli nearly buried her ax in the orc's unworthy face, but he died before she had the pleasure. 

_ Took a little tumble off the cliff, _ the orc had said. Gimli didn't believe it. Couldn't. 

"It's a lie," growled the dwarf. "The two-faced weasel was lying."

Legolas wasn't so sure. And as they ventured toward the edge of the canyon nearby, at the bottom of which lay a wide, churning river, the dwarf fell silent. To survive such a fall, one would have to be particularly favored by the Valar. The elf could see how quickly hope fled the dwarf's eyes as reality registered. Aragorn was gone, and nothing any of them could do would bring him back. 

Théoden approached the cliff, spoke words of consolation. Or something. Legolas didn't really hear him, deafened as he was by the implications of this misfortune screaming in his ears. Without Aragorn, they were lost. 

At least he still had... he turned a look on the dwarf, and was surprised to see Gimli dabbing at her eyes. She turned away from him quickly, clearly ashamed at having been caught. He put a hand on her shoulder, gave her a gentle squeeze. At least he still had  _ her _ . 

Gimli grabbed a handful of her beard and scrubbed her face with it. Legolas watched, perplexed by the vague amusement this inspired in him. How could he feel anything like it at a time like this? 

"Aye?" Gimli had finished, and was turning now to face Théoden, whom Legolas had been more or less unaware of for a stretch of time that was both impossibly short and interminably long. 

"What are you going to do?" The way the king glanced at the cliff seemed to express his belief that they would want to search for their friend. Gimli let out a low sigh. She did want to search for Aragorn, but right now, there were bigger things to handle. 

"We follow the plan, as well as we know how. Round up yer men, Yer Majesty. We'll follow."

As Théoden nodded and moved off, the dwarf turned to her elven friend. There was no trace of the tears he'd glimpsed before, but a refreshed tension about her eyes spoke of the grief she was unwilling to display. 

"Can ya get that blasted animal? I can't handle it to save my life. I'll fetch yer arrows."

Legolas was a little surprised at her unyielding practicality, but at the same time, he was grateful for it. Tauriel wouldn't have stood around and done nothing, either. It wasn't in her nature. The elf shook his head slightly to clear it. 

"Yes, of course."


	14. Helm's Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Grief is Discussed

By the time he returned with their wayward steed, Gimli had nine or ten yellow-fletched arrows in one fist, and was pulling another from the throat of a particularly ugly warg. 

In short order, they were mounted and on the move, following the slow plume of dust that marked the passage of Théoden and his remaining men. 

"There's... something special, about the way a dwarf sees his king," said Gimli suddenly. Her arms were around his waist again, her broad hands fastened around his belt. Much less bruising that way. "When Thorin Oakenshield died... half the dwarven world went into mourning. He's a legend, and nothing can change that. Aragorn... he was cut from the same stone. I'd've followed 'him to the end of my days. I'd've called him my king."

Legolas was silent a long moment, considering Gimli's words. Thorin Oakenshield and Aragorn weren't much alike in his estimation. Thorin - what little he'd seen of him - was stubborn, proud, and  _ rude _ . He had a certain magnetism, of course, a certain air about him, and no one doubted his courage or that he'd redeemed himself at the end. But Aragorn... Aragorn's flaws were few. If anything, he'd been  _ too _ humble, gnawed by self-doubt. Few would have guessed at his noble lineage, and Legolas had a feeling he preferred it that way.

A sudden twinge of grief caught him unexpectedly, and he fished from his tunic the jewel he'd reclaimed from the orc. 

"Arwen." 

"What's that, laddie?" 

"Aragorn's betrothed. He didn't... speak of her much. But then, he was always very quiet on such matters." 

Legolas studied the jewel, the workmanship of the silver, shaped and twisted into spirals and pieces that looked like little wings, in the midst of which was set a stone that nearly glowed in the sunlight. A reminder. He'd seen Aragorn looking at it often enough, face filled with what might have been regret. Did anyone ever  _ not _ feel some regret turning away from love in order to do one's duty?

Gimli winced. "Suppose we'll have to tell her, then?" She wasn't looking forward to that. It had never fallen to her before, to deliver the news of the departed love to those left behind. With a sigh, she rested her cheek against Legolas' curved back. "Well, maybe it won't come to that."

The gesture of affection (or perhaps exhaustion?) wasn't lost on the elf, and he glanced over his shoulder briefly, favoring the top of the dwarf's ginger head with a smile.

"I don't suppose we'll know for a long while yet," he said softly, and clucked at the horse to pick up its pace a little. 

Helm's Deep was an intimidating structure, for something made by men. Gimli was grudgingly impressed, though she didn't like to show it. She muttered about the gates as they clattered up the causeway. She grumbled about the stonework as they stabled their horse inside the keep. The dwarf kept more or less silent on every other topic, including the inevitable siege, until shouts from outside the keep drew them once more into the open.

"Lord Aragorn has returned!" Legolas couldn't have mistaken the astonished call from one of the guards at the gate. It seemed impossible, and yet after all they had seen these past few weeks,  _ nothing _ should have surprised him now.

Gimli followed him at a jog down to the lowest level, where the elf glimpsed through the gathering throng a bedraggled and ragged figure, face tired beyond all exhaustion the elf had ever seen, shoulder torn open, visible through a rip in his leather coat. He looked horrendous, but he was definitely alive. 

"How-?" Legolas shook his head in wonder, hanging back as Gimli plowed through the assembly like a mountain goat. 

"Where is he? I'll  _ kill _ 'im!" 

The dwarf broke suddenly into the open space at the middle of the gathering and stopped, looking up into Aragorn's face. The ranger gave her a tired look, and she scowled. 

"Yer the stupidest, most careless, most reckless man I've ever met, and one of these days, that luck of yours is gonna run out and I won't be there to save ya...." Gimli trailed off and put her arms around Aragorn's waist, hugging him fiercely. "Don't  _ ever _ do that again."

It was a strange, really, the twinge of jealousy that accompanied Legolas' wish that Gimli were wrapped around him with such ferocious protectiveness rather than Aragorn. But the dwarf's actions were born of relief more than anything else, and he couldn't - if indeed he ever did at all - begrudge Aragorn that loyalty.

The ranger managed to extricate himself from Gimli's hold quickly enough, urgency plain in his expression. "I must see the king."

Aragorn was directed up the stairs to the keep, and Gimli trailed after his limping form, looking like she might decide to carry him if he so much as stumbled. 

She looked at Legolas, lips pursed. "See the king, indeed. Needs to  _ sleep _ is what he needs."

"He'll do as he wishes, I expect," said Legolas unhappily. "Unless you know the secret to making Lord Elrond's sleeping draught, I don't think he'll rest until he's good and ready, if ever." He smiled faintly, relief finally registering. "I'm glad he's back." 

Gimli grumbled for a moment, then quieted with a sigh. "Aye. I am, too. Powerful glad." She looked at the man's back, an expression of devotion on her bearded face.

Legolas turned away. "I'll... see that he has a place to rest, should he desire one." It wasn't that he was  _ jealous _ of the loyalty Gimli felt toward Aragorn. That was ridiculous. He just had a sinking feeling that if he'd been the one to go missing, presumed dead, and then returned unlooked-for... he might not have received the same sort of welcome. 

Anyway, duty called, and nothing better to quell unwelcome thoughts than busy hands.


	15. Before the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Jealousy is a Problem

The rhythmic tramp of armored elf feet had to have been for show. Honestly, there was no other excuse, considering how quietly elves usually moved. Gimli glowered at the ranks of elves filing through the gate, in all their perfect gleaming armor and fashion-conscious cloaks. Nevermind that each elven soldier carried a deadly-looking bow and two full quivers of arrows. This was not the last stand she'd hoped to make (protecting Legolas by herself, please and thank you). 

"Rohan calls for aid, and an answer comes to honor the old alliance between elves and men." And there she was, dressed in exactly the same armor and cloak as her cohort. Haldir flashed Legolas a smile, and Gimli was disgruntled to find that the elf was smiling, hope kindled in his blue eyes. 

The dwarf checked the reaction, briefly. She could hardly expect Legolas not to greet one of his own folk so, especially under the circumstances. She would’ve done the same if a troop of dwarves had come marching up the causeway.

But when Legolas slipped past her and fell upon Haldir in glad embrace, the feeling burned within Gimli, silencing reason. He’d never greeted  _ her _ like that. (Never mind that there’d hardly been an opportunity.)

Soon, the two Elves separated, Legolas stepping aside to make room for Aragorn. Haldir’s gaze moved to meet the ranger’s, glancing momentarily off of Gimli’s with the faintest gleam of satisfaction. Or perhaps that was imagined. Haldir couldn’t know. That was impossible.

“We are proud,” the blond lowered her head a little, “to honor the friendship that was of old. Though all others prove faithless, we stand with you to the end.”

Aragorn reached for Haldir’s hand, clasping it firmly. “If the end is near, my friend,” he said softly, “you’ve made it less bitter.”

Gimli grumbled loudly into her beard, and this time she couldn't be mistaken about the amusement in Haldir's glance. 

"I think your bodyguard doesn't share in our optimism," she observed, looking at Legolas sidelong. 

As before, Legolas looked briefly confused, then followed Haldir's pale glance to Gimli's smoldering expression. "Gimli is not my bodyguard," he repeated, slightly distressed by the anger on the dwarf's face. 

“Pardon my mistake,” said Haldir, though she didn’t seem particularly contrite. “It seems I... misread the signs.”

Aragorn tried to preempt further unraveling by inviting the Elven party inside. Gimli seethed beneath the weight of Legolas’ apparent embarrassment, which seemed to abate as he turned with Aragorn to lead the company through the arched doorway. The dwarf was glad for once she didn’t have an ax in hand, or she might’ve been tempted to swing it. Whatever Haldir was playing at, she was doing it infuriatingly well.

Gimli let the elves and the ranger go ahead, seriously considering making a lonely (and definitely not sulky) tour of the walls rather than inflicting Haldir's stupid face on herself.

Of course, Aragorn had to notice and look back as they reached the door. "Master Gimli," he called, sounding confident and tired, "we'll need your expertise as we plan our defense. Come."

It wasn't a request. Tugging angrily on her beard, Gimli followed them and tried to think of a decently polite way to escape as soon as possible. Maybe some of the younger "soldiers" could do with a little practice under her direction. Or maybe she ought to inspect that little culvert in the wall.

Inside, Legolas stood with Haldir and her three officers and Aragorn was with them, though he at least had the decency to watch the door to make sure Gimli joined them. Seated at the table, King Theoden observed them, his own officers arranged about him in grim silence.

Haldir bowed elegantly, sweeping her hand out and away from her body in a manner Gimli thought a little ridiculous. Elves. Always so theatrical. Theoden offered a simple nod in return. 

"We had not looked for aid from the Elves," said the king.

"I bring you five hundred, archers all," Haldir replied loftily. "Each carries a quiver of two score, and not a one will fly errant." Her gaze wandered to Legolas again, then turned once more to the king. "Even so, I dare say we will be glad to have the bow of Thranduil's son beside us."

"I dare say you will," Gimli muttered under her breath. 

"What was that?" Haldir turned to smile at the dwarf, who tried not to bristle too obviously.

"We're all very glad Legolas is here with us," she growled, glaring daggers at the ridiculously pretty she-elf.

Recognition dawned in Legolas’ face at last. In an instant, he’d moved to the dwarf’s side and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Excuse us a moment, my friends,” he said by way of an explanation, steering Gimli toward the door, despite her faint (and mostly feigned) protests.

Once they were outside, Legolas released Gimli and swung around to face her, crossing his arms. Gimli was finding it difficult to meet his gaze.

“Listen,” the blond said, voice just above a whisper, “I know you dislike Haldir, but could you possibly make it a little less obvious? This is hardly the time for such....” He didn’t finish the thought, but Gimli suspected the word of choice would’ve been  _ nonsense _ .

"Pettiness?" she suggested aggressively, preferring to study Legolas' boots than look up into his face. "Aye, yer right. But she's rubbing it in and I don't like it." Which was only partially true. What she didn't like wasn't so much Haldir's smugness as it was how much Legolas seemed to be enjoying her company. The elf had only been here for five minutes and it seemed like Gimli's self-control was already falling apart. 

Legolas considered for a moment, then he chuckled, as though the situation had suddenly struck him as funny. This, Gimli thought as she glared harder into the elf's boots, was  _ not _ funny. But now curiosity overruled her wounded pride, and she glanced at Legolas' face. He was smiling at her, that amused half-smile she found at turns annoying and... less annoying. It crossed the dwarf's mind that he never looked at Haldir that way, however fond of her he seemed to be.

"What's that for?" Gimli asked, trying to sound irritated.

"What's what for?"

"That look."

Gimli heard no mockery in the laugh that followed, and Legolas rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a conciliatory squeeze. "You're not the best at hiding your feelings, you dear ridiculous dwarf." 

Gimli huffed into her beard, hoping he couldn't see the heat in her cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered. "Dwarves are incredibly stoic. Well-known for their... er, self-control."

He only nodded, raising a shapely brow. That made her blush all the more, and she strove in vain for some semblance of dignity.

"If it helps," Legolas offered finally, when Gimli thought she couldn't possibly feel more absurd, "what we have has not changed. Haldir is a friend." He chuckled. "A terrible coquette, to be sure. But no more to me than that." 

The relief that swept through her was so heady, it was like taking a draught of undiluted elven wine. Just a friend. She was just a friend. The animosity Gimli had harbored against the she-elf dropped away - well, maybe not entirely, but it was at least significantly dampened. Her blush wasn't, but it was a very good feeling all the same.

Legolas moved a bit closer, catching her hand with his own and settling the long, slender fingers over her calloused knuckles. The gesture surprised Gimli, but she didn't recoil.

She looked up from their joined hands, this time finding the strength to meet the elf's gaze again, despite the heat in her bearded cheeks.

Legolas hesitated a moment, but finally spoke, his voice softer now. "If I'm... being forward, you've only to say so. But... by any reckoning, our chances are not good. I won't waste what time remains pretending we're..." He trailed off, looking refreshingly uncertain, even a bit sheepish. 

An unexpected surge of affection and kinship welled up in the dwarf's chest, and she folded her free hand over his, clasping it tightly. Where words failed, only action would suit. Perhaps he wouldn't understand like a dwarf would, but did it really matter? Reaching up, she pulled a silver bead from the braid behind her left ear, the one etched with her captain's runes. It was no proposal, but it was a pledge. As the braid began to come undone, Gimli pressed the bead into the elf's hand.

"I'll be with ya. To the end." Her voice was low and gruff, but utterly sincere. And maybe her father would be mortified, but at this point, did it really matter? Who would be left to tell him?

Legolas studied the bead in his palm a moment before closing his fingers around it. There was something in the gesture that moved her more than any words could have. This was not helping her already faltering efforts at control.

His pale blue eyes met hers again, and she thought she could see an odd sheen to them that hadn’t been there before. Good. She wouldn’t be alone in her foolishness. That made it easier to bear.

“I... I’d like to wear it. In the battle.” Legolas’ tone was soft, but earnest. “Would you do me the honor of....” He trailed off, gesturing to one of the thin braids flowing from behind his pointed ears.

Gimli couldn't help it. She laughed soft and low, but beckoned him to sit while she fixed the bead in place. His hair was exactly as silky and soft as it had always looked, which posed a bit of a problem for the bead, which was heavy and tended to slide. She made it work, braiding the bead into the plait and fixing the end. It took only a minute, and when she was done, Gimli studied her handiwork with a feeling of pride and devotion she hadn't thought any but her family could inspire. But then... Legolas might as well have been family, all told. She still owed him a life debt, and more besides.

"Thank you. Fer... everything."

Legolas nodded, and the bead swung jauntily upon its braid. Gimli saw the elf’s eyes dart toward it with a look that meant,  _ This’ll take some getting used to _ . 

Above the fortifications, dark clouds encroached, harbingers of rain and battle. But nothing that lay ahead could trouble the warmth of Legolas’ smile, or the blossoming of hope in her bosom. Here, on the cusp of death, she’d never felt more alive.

The dwarf frowned, suddenly aware of how this would look. “What’ll we tell Aragorn?”

Legolas' smile didn't falter. "It's a life debt thing. And if we survive this battle, we'll tell him... the rest."

By which Gimli understood -  _ we'll cross that bridge when we get to it _ . She couldn't help but grin up at him. "Sneaky elf," she muttered.

"Sly dwarf," he retorted, and neither of them worried too much about appearances as they rejoined Aragorn and the others for the forging of battle plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Dwarves are incredibly stoic. Well-known for their... er, self-control."_  
>  More like ELF-control, amirite? ;D


	16. The Cost of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which an Elf is Distracted

Bodies, rubble, the stench of blood and wet metal and splintered wood. Legolas' hand leapt up to the braid behind his left ear and the heavy silver bead that still hung there, gore-splattered, but comfortingly solid. 

"Prince Legolas!" Haldir stood on the wall, leaning heavily against the shattered stone. She was much the worse for wear, her armor dented and covered in icor. "How stands the count of the living? I have seven up here with me." Her company. She was looking for elves. 

Legolas cleared his throat, glancing at the two Galadhrim archers woven into the grisly tapestry of Uruk bodies at his feet. Less had fallen here on the walls, where the defenders had held the advantage.

“A score at least were at the breach,” he said finally, his voice husky from shouting over the din. It had quieted now, but the rush of it was still in his ears, like the breaking of the ocean tide. 

“And... how many survived?” Haldir’s voice was steady, but seemed empty now of hope.

Legolas shook his head, the heavy bead swinging near his ear as it had so many times throughout the battle. He’d taken comfort from the constant reminder. It bound them together - he and his missing dwarf - even as they’d lost track of each other in the chaos.

Haldir sighed, leaning wearily into the stone. “I almost wish that I had followed them.”

Legolas looked at her, reading the pain in her face. Seven, she said. Seven of... how many? Four hundred? He couldn't remember. Mounting the stairs, he put a hand on her shoulder. "There will be time to mourn the dead later. For now, we must find the living. I'll search the inside of the wall while you check the keep."

Haldir sucked in a breath and tried to push herself upright. "And I'll let you know if I find your dwarf," she muttered and gave him a wan smile. "I know that's who you're looking for." She glanced at the bead. Of course it wouldn't have escaped her notice. In different times, he might've blushed at how easily she'd guessed what was foremost in his mind.

"Check the keep," he repeated, and headed off toward the inner wall. Haldir watched him go, still unmoving. When he glanced back, her gaze was distant, faintly yearning. For what, perhaps even she couldn't have said. 

Eomer's men were already clearing bodies when Legolas arrived at the most heavily damaged portion of the wall, where the greater share of hand to hand combat had taken place. A score of them had set to piling the Uruks on large canvas tarpaulins, which were then dragged by horses along a recently cleared and smoothed path through the breach. Overhead, winged shadows circled but didn't yet dare to land.

Two exhausted elves were helping the men move bodies. A third sat against the wall with a leg swathed in bandages and the pinched look of a warrior in pain. Legolas helped the injured one back to the keep and returned to the breach, trying hard not to think much about what might have happened to Gimli while he was too busy looking after his kin to keep an eye on her.

At length, Legolas stopped a tall flaxen-haired rider with a bandaged thigh. "Have any of your men seen a dwarf down here?" 

The rider turned his exhausted gaze on the elf, and Legolas felt the pain in his eyes almost as a physical sensation. "A dwarf?" he asked vaguely, then shook his head, looking down with a sigh. "No. No dwarves here. Just... a lot of dead men."

There were indeed many dead humans here, mixed in with the orcs and several pale elves, beautiful even in death. Legolas tried not to imagine Gimli's bloodless, lifeless face on the ground among her enemies.

Unfortunately trying  _ not _ to imagine it had the opposite effect, and Legolas drew his lips into a thin line and nodded, beginning to turn away. 

"If we find him - the dwarf - I'll send a man to you with news. What are you called?" The man's tired voice held something of compassion, and Legolas paused, glancing back at him.

The elf wanted to tell him that wouldn't be necessary. Couldn't be necessary. Instead he gave his name, thanked him, and turned to go. Already he cursed himself for not looking after Gimli more closely, for allowing the chaos to separate them. If the worst proved true, he would never forgive himself. 

It took more than half an hour to tour the entire inner wall, and when no ginger-haired dwarf made herself known, living or otherwise, Legolas could feel something dark and rotten taking root in the core of his being. Was this how his father had felt, all those years ago when the Woodland Queen disappeared? Had he, too, thought that everything he cared about was tainted and lost in the end? 

"Your Highness." Haldir stood at the door to the keep, her expression grim. "The women say there was fighting in the caves, but they don't know where. If I know only one thing about dwarves, it's that they like caves, and like fighting." 

It seemed too much to hope for, but hope Legolas did. He gave the she-elf a nod and brushed past her through the door.

Haldir's voice rose softly at his back. "Good luck." He knew she meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we've come near the end of our buffer, unfortunately, and after next week's update, we'll need to go on hiatus for a while as Loki and I compose the rest of this little story. Rest assured, we have plenty planned. We just didn't anticipate the huge distraction that is house-hunting and Covid. XP


	17. The Caves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a Dwarf is Found

When Legolas arrived at the barricade, he saw that several of the timbers and broken carts that had been piled in the doorway were shifted or hewn asunder. Dark blood stained some of them, and there was evidence also of fire, though the rain had dampened the wood, and that method of gaining access must've quickly been abandoned in favor of more brutish means. Legolas peered into the dark tunnel, but even his elven sight could make out little of the twisting and jagged passageway.

He retrieved a lantern that lay near the wall. It was still burning faintly, possibly left behind by whoever had discovered the Uruks' efforts to get at the women and children. Then, gathering his cloak so it wouldn't snag on the wreckage of the barricade, he steeled himself for whatever lay before him and headed into the tunnel. 

The faint light of his lantern fell at first only one bare rock, the grey and red blending together in a blur of shadows. Then, stepping around another jagged twist in the tunnel, Legolas saw his light slide over a sad, limp corpse. For a second, his imagination provided the stocky frame, the red hair, the elven cloak of grey-green. Then he blinked, and the body resumed human proportions. A young warrior of Rohan, hewn down as he tried to protect the women and children.

Heart beating fast, Legolas pressed on, feeling as though this tunnel would never end. Then, a sound. Not the plunk of water into deep pools or the shift of sand on stone, but the soft rumble of men's voices.

Legolas squinted into the dark, seeing a spark of light - no, more. Many lights, all glittering and shifting as he lifted his lantern. And... the colors. It was unlike anything the elf prince had ever seen.

"Who's up there? Any word from the king?" It was a human voice.

Legolas turned toward the voice, though in the vast, echoing darkness it was difficult to tell where the speaker actually stood.

“I have no news from the king,” he answered, presently. “I’m seeking a friend. Has... a dwarf passed this way?”

"Oh, the dwarf. Back that way." The human limped into the light, gesturing back the way they had come. There were five in their little group, and all were hurt in some way, though they stood on their own power. The leader looked and sounded ragged with exhaustion as he continued. "You'll wanna brace yourself. It ain't pretty back there. Well... that part isn't, anyway."

The elf’s heart plummeted as if weighted by stones and he felt sick. Again too overcome to offer a reply, he nodded and moved quickly past the group. They would reach the exit no sooner with his help, and he couldn’t bear the thought of further delay.

“Have a care,” the speaker called after him, wearily. “It’s said a man alone may come to grief in the dark with the dead.”

Legolas took this for Rohirric superstition, and hesitated only a moment. Gimli wasn’t among the dead. She couldn’t be.

“Have a care!” the man called more sharply, his voice ringing down the tunnel after Legolas. This time, the elf didn’t slow.

The light of his lantern, feeble and flickering uncertainly in the wind of his passage, threw frail shadows ahead, glinting off the rock, shining on damp places. As its failing illumination slid over the first of the dark smears on the sandy earth, Legolas caught his breath. Three men, hewn down as they fought, lay in slowly congealing pools of blood. A single armored elf lay across the path, a sword still clasped in her outstretched hand, cut nearly in two. And orcs. A dozen of them at least, cold stiff faces twisted into grimaces and snarls of pain and hatred, lay about the tunnel and in the cavern beyond, seeming to shudder as the wavering lanternlight glittered in their dead, glassy eyes.

There was no sign of Gimli.

With mounting dread, Legolas picked his way past the stiff corpses of the fallen feeling no fear at the trailing fingers of the spirits that departed for places unknown to the living. They were beyond hurting him now.

What he saw in the cavern beyond the site of the underground battle was enough almost to push Gimli from his mind. Where before the occasional stalagmite had glittered, or a wall had sparkled, this place  _ shone _ with a rainbow radiance that had no comparison. Veins of topaz, quartz, and carnelian winked and sparkled opposite thick glittering webs of amethyst, jasper, and sapphire. But it wasn't the variety of precious gems that struck him so much as the unpolished, natural beauty of the scene. Elves would write songs of such a place, if they knew it existed.

And there, standing reverently before the glittering wall to his left, was a stocky, redheaded figure that had only just started to turn as the lantern in Legolas' hand gave a final flicker, sputtered, and went dark.

There was an astonished intake of breath. A moment later, amidst cacophonous clanking and leathery squeaking, something struck him so hard he staggered backward, dropping the now-useless lantern. Strong arms followed, seeming to grapple him in the dark.

One of Legolas' hands flailed out to stop his descent, finding the tunnel wall and holding. The other sought the haft of the knife strapped at his back. But something held him from drawing it, a choice he knew could mean his death.

"G- Gimli?"

The voice that now greeted his ears, breathless with joy and relief, not even the cruelest trick of the mind could have devised. The grappling arms had meant to steady him, and had even now gone around him like steel bands.

"You're alive, ya crazy elf!" The dwarf laughed with uncharacteristic abandon. "I should'na doubted your chances." 

Legolas wheezed softly, unsure if it was the dwarf's crushing embrace or his own overwhelming relief that made breathing so difficult. Confident now that he wouldn't fall, he released the wall and wrapped both arms around Gimli's broad shoulders. 

"I thought I'd lost you," he admitted, knowing he only had the courage to say so in the dark where no one could see his face. 

"It'd take more than a few orcs to get rid of me," growled Gimli, though the bravado seemed a sad mask and did a poor job of concealing her gruff joy. 

"All the same, I worried." Legolas worked to steady his breathing, the dwarf's strong arms grounding him, bringing him back to himself. "So many... so many dead. When I didn't find you after the battle, I..."

He fell off, overwhelmed, but now oddly self-conscious. The two separated a little, held each other at arm's length. Legolas wished he could see the dwarf's face, if only to reassure himself she was alright. As much as he trusted her voice and touch, this was the final confirmation he craved.

"What happened here?" he asked, recovering slightly. 

Gimli grunted, and he felt her turn somewhat, as if to survey their surroundings. "A band of orcs got in, and we had to cut them off before they reached the storage caves. It was close fighting, and dirty. We surprised them... and lost a few good men on the way." Her tone was rough, but there was that of regret in her words that suggested she would have wished a better end for these brave warriors. "It wasn't until after the scum were dead that I found this place. It's..." Gimli trailed off, and though Legolas couldn't see her face, the tone of awe was unmistakable.

It was best to put aside all else that lay heavy within him, at least for now. That could hold for a better time. Forcing himself to focus on what Gimli had said, he nodded shakily, remembering how well she'd been able to see in Moria, and must even now be seeing what he could not. But he understood. In the lamplight, he'd seen it too. Perhaps he recalled it better now than he had in the height of his fear. How long the stony canvases must have waited for eyes that would appreciate them. Dwarven eyes. For a moment, her awe was his.

"It's... beautiful. Truly." 

Under his hands, Gimli's shoulders shook slightly. A shiver? "There'll be time to admire these caverns when our mission is done. Come, my friend. Ya look like you could fall over any minute." Again, that sturdy arm wrapped about his waist, steadying him as though it were attached to a stone, rather than a warm body.

"Be my eyes, Gimli," Legolas murmured, letting his eyes close. There was no difference, not in this pitch darkness. "I won't find my way without you."

Not can't. Won't.

If Gimli noticed, she didn't comment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last fresh chapter I have for you, my friends, as this is the end of our buffer. This means, unfortunately, that this is the beginning of our hiatus. I have high hopes that we will be able to resume in the near future, however. Stay strong, my lovelies, and we'll be back as quickly as we may. Until then, may the sun smile on you and the earth stay firm beneath your boots.


End file.
